


oh, my love (this is the beginning)

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t want to go to this party alone so please be my date” AU mixed with a “fake dating” AU </p><p>or</p><p>Bellamy agrees to be Clarke's date to her best friend's engagement party. All the feelings happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, my love (this is the beginning)

**Author's Note:**

> friends, by now you all know i am a sucker for a modern!au, especially with these two. this one is the longest fic i've ever written for any fandom! 
> 
> disclaimer: i don't own the 100, the characters, or any similarities between this story and the plot of the show. i also don't own the lyrics that i used for the title, which are from the song "what we hope" by elenowen.

_Sunday_

 

Bellamy wakes to a pounding on his front door, the sound getting louder and louder the more he tries to ignore it.

 

“Bellamy!” He recognizes Clarke Griffin’s voice on the other side of the door, and his brow furrows. “I know you’re in there, and you better answer the door in the next two minutes or I swear—“

 

Bellamy gets up, cutting her off as he takes three strides to the front door and swings it open forcefully, feeling gratified when her eyes widen and she takes a step backwards. “Do you know what time it is, princess?”

 

“I know it’s late, but—“

 

“It’s after midnight. I have to work in the morning.”

 

“I know but—“

 

“Who just shows up at someone’s house in the middle of the night? Who even—“ Bellamy stopped in the middle of his sentence, arching a brow at Clarke, “Clarke Griffin, is this a proposition?”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes and huffs in frustration, “Are you going to let me inside or what?”

 

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t offer the princess shelter? After you.” He moves to one side of the doorway to let her pass and absolutely does not notice how she smells like vanilla and flowers. Absolutely not.

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s so important that you had to come here in the middle of the night?” Bellamy drawls, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He hesitates for a brief second before grabbing a second glass, filling it up before walking back into the room.

 

He hands the second glass to Clarke, who takes it with a grateful look on her face. “I have an emergency.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like that my best friend is getting married, and my ex is going to be there, and I really don’t want to go to the engagement party alone, because it’ll look like I’ve just been sitting around waiting—“

 

“Clarke.” Bellamy interrupts her, his lips twitching in amusement, “Not that I don’t like to watch you ramble, but what does this have to do with me?”

 

She puts her hands on her hips and glares at him, like he’s an idiot for not being able to read her mind, and he just raises his eyebrows right back, as if daring her to tell him.

 

“I maybe sort of might have told her that you were my boyfriend and you were going to come with me! Great! Bye!” She blurts out in a rush, whirling around to get to the door, but Bellamy is faster than her, and in two strides he’s between her and the front door, his eyes blazing.

 

“You told your friend what?”

 

“Bellamy…”

 

“I know you didn’t lie to the girl you just called your best friend about whatever our weird relationship is, especially not without asking me first, because that would be insane.”

 

“You don’t understand!” She practically cries, and Bellamy’s gaze softens when he sees that she’s starting to look actually, legitimately upset. “Bellamy, my ex is going to be there, and he screwed me over royally, and I really just want him to see that I’m not as pathetic as I actually am.” By the time she finishes speaking, her shoulders are slumped, and she looks so dejected, nothing like the girl that basically forced her way into his apartment just a few minutes ago.

 

“Why me?” Bellamy stutters, and then rolls his eyes at himself, because is that the question he really wants to know the answer to? He thinks he likes it better when Clarke is a complete mystery.

 

“Because you owe me one—“ she says, and holds up her hand when Bellamy starts to protest, “— and because I basically cried to Octavia about it and she said you have barely left the house since your breakup.”

 

“Octavia is nosy and doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

 

“Bellamy, look. I know we’re not the best of friends, and we don’t even really know each other, but please, please do this favor for me and I swear I’ll owe you a hundred times over.”

 

Bellamy looks at her, just looks at her, and for a minute he doesn’t just see Clarke, the girl who comes into the coffee shop he owns with his sister on a regular basis, he sees a girl who is scared and nervous and needs his help. He sighs, and that seems to signal to Clarke that she’s won, because the next thing he knows she’s jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck, and he staggers backwards two steps before he clues in enough to actually hug her back.

 

“Thank you, thank you! You won’t regret this Bellamy, I swear.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Now can you get out of here so I can go to bed?”

 

“Oh! Right, of course! Sorry. I… I’ll come by the cafe tomorrow and we can figure out the details, okay?”

 

“Sure, princess.”

 

She looks at him for a second and he sees something in her eyes that he can’t figure out, but before he can call her on it, she smiles at him, and starts to open the door.

 

“Hey, Clarke?” He calls before she can leave. When she turns around, something in his chest tightens. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re pathetic.”

 

She smiles shyly at him. “Thanks, Bellamy.”

 

.

.

.

_Monday_

 

It’s late in the afternoon the next day when Clarke comes into the cafe, all bright eyes and blonde hair. Bellamy tries to ignore the way she zeroes in on him while he’s behind the counter, but he can’t help but notice, especially not when she smiles at him before being intercepted by his sister.

 

Clarke and Octavia have been friends since Clarke practically lived at the cafe months ago, back when she was still in med school. She was always swamped with exams and research papers, and lived down the street, making Grounders the convenient place for her to get caffeine, and find some peace and quiet. Bellamy met her soon after, and they became notorious for getting on each other’s last nerve. It almost makes him want to laugh now, because while he really did dislike her at first (not her, really, but what she stood for — someone with more money, more opportunity, more privilege than him), she grew on him, and now she and Octavia are practically inseparable.

 

“So, how mad at me are you?” Clarke’s voice brings him out of his thoughts, and he turns to see her at the counter, messing with the stack of cardboard sleeves for the coffee.

 

Bellamy sighs, “I’m not mad at you.”

 

“You seemed mad last night.”

 

“I was tired. A lunatic decided to wake me up in the middle of the night and demand that I be her fake boyfriend.” He teases, and it gets him the desired affect — Clarke’s eyes blaze as she scowls at him. Bellamy resists the urge to smirk at her.

 

“I didn’t demand anything, Bellamy. If you don’t want to do it, you can just say so.”

 

“And miss the chance to see how you’re going to explain to people how I’m suddenly your boyfriend? I don’t think so,” Bellamy laughs, moving away from the counter to make a customer’s drink.

 

“Raven doesn’t even know you. It’ll be fine.”

 

“You think so?”

 

Clarke is quiet for a moment, biting her nails. “… Don’t you?”

 

“What if they ask how we met?”

 

“Tell them we met here. Like we actually did.”

 

Bellamy looks at Clarke for a second, not used to seeing her second guessing herself and acting nervous. It’s unsettling. “Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Fine,” Clarke sighs, and Bellamy snorts.

 

“It’s not the inquisition, princess, I’m just curious about something.” He smiles at her in what he hopes is a reassuring manner, and when she rolls her eyes in response, he figures they’re back to normal. As normal can be for them, anyways. “Why are you so worried about showing up to this thing without a date?”

 

Clarke frowns, “I’m not worried. I just… I don’t know. All my friends are getting married, and this guy who’s going to be there… I don’t know. I thought he could have been the one, once.”

 

“You’re going to have to fill me in on that story, you know,” Bellamy warns, trying to keep his voice light.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It just… he moved on so fast, and I… I didn’t.” Clarke says, her voice smaller than he’s ever heard it, and he doesn’t like it. “Anyway. It just… it would make me feel better if I have to see him again. If I don’t have to do it alone.”

 

That, Bellamy can relate to. His breakup with Roma was recent, and even though they weren’t serious, it still stings. He sees her around every now and then, and every time he thinks that she looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world. He wishes he could get over it that quickly. “I know how you feel,” he mutters to Clarke. “After I get off we’ll talk details, okay?” He tries to smile at Clarke, but she barely notices; they’re both stuck in their memories.

 

An hour later, Bellamy is done with his shift and he makes his way over to the table where Clarke is still sitting by herself, Octavia having left awhile ago to meet up with her boyfriend.

 

“Hey,” he says when he gets closer, and he sits down across from her, watching as she shifts some paper and charcoal out of the way to make room for him. “How long have you been working on that?”

 

“Not long,” she replies absentmindedly, still sketching. The sketch is amazing — it’s a forest scene, and the details are perfectly etched on the paper, right down to the veins on the leaves and foliage. After a minute she finishes the bit she’s been working on and looks up at him, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. Her cheeks are smudged with charcoal, and Bellamy’s fingers itch to brush it off. He swallows and looks away for a second.

 

“So…”

 

“So.” Clarke folds her arms on the table in front of her, “The party is in two weeks. I didn’t want to spring it on you, but I need to RSVP.”

 

He nods, “That’s fine. Is it in town?”

 

“It’s close by, actually. That hotel down the road.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

“Is it going to be this awkward when we actually go to the party? Because I don’t think we’ll be fooling anyone,” Clarke says, her eyes narrowing in Bellamy’s direction.

 

“This isn’t exactly a normal situation,” Bellamy snaps. “Sorry. I just haven’t done this before.”

 

“Me either,” Clarke laughs, “How many fake boyfriends do you think I have?”

 

“I don’t know, five?”

 

“How dare you.” She fires back, but the corners of her mouth twitch in amusement.

 

Bellamy grins and takes a long swig of his coffee as he watches Clarke work on her sketch. They’re both quiet and he has to admit that he likes that the two of them can sit together for a long time, neither one of them saying a word, and it isn’t weird like it would be with other girls. “So what’s our story?”

 

“Like I said before, we should keep it as close to the truth as possible. We met here, at Grounders, while I was in med school.”

 

“And how did we figure out that we were in love?” Bellamy asks, his voice going high pitched at the end. He ducks suddenly when Clarke tosses her eraser at him, but he can tell she’s trying not to laugh.

 

“I don’t know. Can’t we make it up as we go along?”

 

“You don’t think that’ll backfire? Have you never watched a romantic comedy in your life?”

 

“How many have you watched?” She asks him, grinning at him and he rolls his eyes. “I guess I didn’t really think of all the details at the time. I sort of panicked,” she admits.

 

“What happened with this guy, Clarke?” Bellamy asks, his voice soft and searching.

 

He can see the change in her instantly - the way her shoulders sag slightly and her brow furrows. “It was a year ago. We weren’t dating that long, but I really fell for him.” She laughs bitterly, “I thought he felt the same way, but apparently he didn’t.”

 

“Princess—“

 

“He had a girlfriend. The entire time he took me out on dates and spent time with me and told me that he was so excited for our… our future—“ Clarke cuts herself off, swallowing hard, “— he was with someone else the entire time, and it was just so shitty because he made me the other woman.”

 

“Shit, Clarke.” Bellamy says, not really knowing what to say. He wants to tell her that this guy is an idiot for doing that to her. He wants to tell her that there’s no way this other girl could have been worth what Clarke went through. He wants to tell her all these things, but he knows it’s not a good time. She’s probably heard it before, from her actual friends.

 

“Yeah. Anyway, Raven is one of his closest friends. They’re practically family, so she can’t just not invite him to her engagement party.” Clarke shrugs, “She offered to, but I told her to invite him, that I’d deal with it.”

 

“You’re a better person than I am, princess. If it were me…” Bellamy trails off. “Look, let’s skip the heartache, okay? What kind of outfit do I need for this shindig?” He waggles his eyebrows at her.

 

“It’s not black tie. Just… I don’t know, look nicer than you do now?”

 

She’s teasing him, but he puts a hand over his heart in mock outrage all the same. “That hurt me here, Clarke.” He taps his chest for emphasis.

 

“My dress is blue. If that helps.”

 

“Do we have to match? This isn’t the prom.”

 

“Why did you ask me what you should wear, then?”

 

“I was just trying to—“

 

“Why don’t we go shopping together?” Clarke asks suddenly, her eyes lighting up in that way they do when she’s got an idea. Bellamy winces inwardly, hoping that whatever she’s about to suggest isn’t going to either break the bank or make him extremely uncomfortable. “It’ll be a good excuse to get out together, and then we have a story to tell to everyone at the party.”

 

“About clothes shopping.” Bellamy says dryly.

 

“Clothes shopping,” Clarke agrees, looking proud of herself.

 

“The princess gets what the princess wants, I suppose.”

 

“We can start by you agreeing to never call me that again,” Clarke tells him with a hopeful look on her face.

 

“I’m afraid nicknames are non-negotiable.”

 

“You’re an idiot.”

 

“Only for you, sweetheart,” Bellamy quips, before draining the rest of his coffee and narrowly missing another eraser being thrown at his head. Dimly he wonders if he’s going to have a concussion by the time this whole fake boyfriend thing is said and done.

 

.

.

.

.

 

_Wednesday_

 

Two days later finds Bellamy and Clarke at the local mall, and Bellamy is pretty sure his scowl is going to be permanently etched onto his face by the time their little shopping excursion is finished. They’ve been here for an hour already, and Bellamy is still no closer to finding anything to wear to the party that meets Clarke’s approval.

 

“What did you tell Octavia we were doing today?”

 

“I told her we were going shopping,” Bellamy says, looking at a row of sweaters with one eyebrow raised. “Why?”

 

“Just curious.”

 

“What about this?” He asks, holding up a simple, blue sweater.

 

Clarke makes a face. “It looks like something one of my college professors would wear.”

 

“What’s wrong with that?” Clarke blinks at him, and he shrugs. “What? I wanted to be a professor, once.”

 

Clarke’s face morphs into a smile, and it makes Bellamy redden. “What did you want to teach?”

 

“History,” he says without missing a beat, and Clarke smiles even wider. “What?”

 

“I knew it. You’re such a nerd, Blake.”

 

Bellamy has a hard time fighting a smile after that, even though he tries to look menacing.

 

.

. 

A few hours later they finally get out of the mall, but not before stopping at Clarke’s favorite place in the food court to get smoothies on their way out. “You’ll thank me for this later,” she tells him, and he raised an eyebrow at her in response, almost daring her to tell him that the smoothies at this little place were better than the ones they made at his cafe.

 

(He has to admit though, they were pretty good, not that he’ll tell her that)

 

“Oh, no. No, no…” Clarke says suddenly as they’re walking down the street, bags and smoothies in hand.

 

“Are you okay?” He asks, growing worried when he sees how pale she’s gotten. “Clarke—“

 

“It’s Raven.”

 

“What?”

 

“Raven! She’s right over there. We’ll have to walk right past her.”

 

“This is your best friend that you’re afraid of, right?”

 

“Shut up!” She says, and halfheartedly swings her bag into his leg. “She’s going to see us and want to meet you, boyfriend.”

 

“Shit.” Bellamy says, realizing what has Clarke so panicked, and he has to agree, they’re not ready for this yet. They’ve only barely begun to touch on what they’re going to tell people at the party, and he knows that despite Clarke’s usually calm exterior, she’s still not even confident that they’re going to get away with that, so no. They are not prepared to meet Raven right here, right now.

 

“She saw me. I have to talk to her.” Clarke says, and Bellamy grabs her elbow to pull her to a stop for a second.

 

“Clarke. Okay, look. It’ll be fine. Calm down and just act normal, okay? The less you lie, the easier it’ll be when it’s all over.”

 

Clarke nods. “Right. You’re right. Just act normal. Okay.”

 

They make their way over to where Raven is waving at Clarke, and Bellamy plasters a smile onto his face. He can do this. He can play the devoted, loving boyfriend. He could win a damn Oscar for it, too.

 

“Clarke! You liar, you told me you already had a dress for the party!” She says, laughing as she eyes the bags in Clarke’s hand.

 

“Hey, Raven. No, they’re not for me. They’re for Bellamy.”

 

Raven’s eyes flit over to Bellamy and a slow grin lights up her features. “Ah, yes. The elusive new boyfriend. I’m Raven.” She holds out her hand to shake and Bellamy takes it.

 

“Bellamy Blake. I’ve heard a lot about you from Clarke.”

 

“That’s funny, because she hasn’t really mentioned you all that much.”

 

To his left, Bellamy can see Clarke tense, and he can just picture how pale she’s getting, so he forces a laugh and slings his arm around her shoulders, hoping for her own sake that she just goes with it before she passes out. “Well, this is all pretty new. Plus, she probably doesn’t want to brag about how awesome her boyfriend is.”

 

Raven eyes him critically for a long, tense moment, and just when Bellamy is getting ready to admit to the whole charade, she smiles again, and laughs good-naturedly. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” She leans in closer to Clarke, and whispers to her, just loud enough for Bellamy to hear, “Nice one, Griffin. With hands like that, I bet he—“

 

“Raven!” Clarke nearly shrieks, turning a shade of pink that Bellamy can’t help but find incredibly endearing, even if he finds himself blushing a little bit at Raven’s brazen words himself.

 

“Don’t let me keep you. Clarke, we’re having lunch tomorrow. Bellamy, I’ll see you next Saturday.”

 

“Yes ma’am,” Clarke mutters, and Bellamy snorts.

 

“Nice meeting you,” He says before pulling Clarke away. Once they get around the corner, he stops, facing her. “See, that wasn’t so bad.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Please. She totally knows.”

 

“What? How do you figure—“

 

“She’s my best friend! She might not know we’re faking it, but she definitely suspects something. We’ll have to do better at the party.”

 

“What are you planning?”

 

“Don’t freak out. I’ll try not to offend your delicate sensibilities.”

.

.

When Bellamy gets home, his sister is waiting for him. “Hey, O,” he calls out as he hangs his keys up by the door, and shrugs off his hoodie.

 

“What’s up with you and Clarke?”

 

Bellamy freezes, and hopes it’s not too noticeable. He doesn’t know what, if anything, Clarke has told Octavia about what they’re doing, and he knows that she’s going to read him the riot act if she finds out they’re fake dating. “Nothing. Why do you ask?” Walking into the living room, he sinks onto the couch next to Octavia, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

 

She’s sitting cross-legged, and turns so she’s facing him more fully once he sits down. “Weren’t you just shopping with her? I saw her leaving.”

 

“So we went shopping. So what?”

 

She folds her arms, “Since when do you and Clarke go shopping together?”

 

“… Since she asked me to go shopping with her because she didn’t have anyone else to go with, and I said yes?”

 

Octavia glares at him, and he knows she’s going to get it out of him sooner or later. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m going to find out what you’re hiding from me eventually, Bell. I know you better than anyone.”

 

“Look, why don’t you go shopping with her next time and then I won’t have to.”

 

“I was busy.” Octavia says, leaning over him to grab the remote off the arm of the couch, aiming it at the TV and turning it on to some mindless reality show. He’s half tempted to steal it from her and try to find a good documentary, but he hears Clarke’s voice in the back of his head calling him a nerd and thinks better of it. “Oh my god!” Octavia shrieks after a few moments of silence, and Bellamy whips his head towards her.

 

“What?!”

 

“You told her you would go with her to that engagement party, didn’t you! That’s why you went shopping together!”

 

Bellamy groans, tilting his head back to lean against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “So what, O? Is that a crime?”

 

“No, but I can’t believe you said yes!”

 

His sister is practically bouncing with excitement and he’s not sure what to make of that. Ever since she and Clarke became friends, Octavia has been not-so-subtly dropping hints for Bellamy to ask Clarke out, and he should have known this news would make her flip her lid.

 

“When she told me she didn’t have a date and I suggested you, I was mostly joking! I didn’t think she’d actually go for it!”

 

“She showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night and basically gave me no choice. It’s not a big deal.”

 

“It is though! All her friends are going to be there, and her ex!”

 

“So she’s said.”

 

Octavia sighs dreamily, grinning at him, “So when should I plan for your wedding?”

 

“Don’t start.”

 

“I’m thinking a summer wedding would be nice.”

 

“I’m just doing her a favor, O.”

 

“At what point in the favor do you confess your undying love for her?” She asks him, drawing a heart shape in the air with her fingers.

 

“Never, because I’m not in love with her.”

 

“Whatever you say, big brother. Whatever you say.”

 

.

.

.

.

 

_Thursday_

 

Bellamy is at the end of his shift at Grounders and is in the middle of wiping down the counters when the door to the cafe is flung open. The bell hanging near the top almost breaks off, and Bellamy opens his mouth, ready to yell at whoever it is that they were closing, when he looks up and sees Clarke. He freezes, taking in the redness of her eyes and the way she looks like she’s about two seconds away from losing it, and he’s moving towards her before he can even give it a second thought.

 

“Clarke?”

 

Bellamy’s halfway to where she’s standing before he hears Octavia’s voice behind him. He stops in his tracks and takes in the way Clarke is still barely moving, barely even breathing.

 

Octavia moves closer, her eyes wide with alarm, “Clarke, are you okay? I wasn’t expecting you tonight, I thought you said—“

 

“I… I can’t—“ Clarke starts and stops her sentence abruptly, her voice breaking. “My dad… My dad is—“

 

Bellamy can feel his stomach start to drop as he watches her wrap her arms around herself. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

 

“— My Dad is… he was in an accident… they… My Mom called and said they couldn’t do anything, and he’s gone—“

 

“Oh, Clarke,” is all Octavia says before she takes two strides forward and gathers Clarke into her arms, the blonde nearly collapsing on top of his sister as the sobs finally start to come out. Octavia looks at Bellamy over Clarke’s shoulder, and Bellamy is sure he looks stricken. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s never seen Clarke like this before. She’s always been the strong one, and he doesn’t even know her that well, and now she needs them and he doesn’t—

 

“Let’s get her upstairs,” Bellamy hears himself say, gesturing towards the stairs that lead to the private entrance to his apartment above the cafe.

 

Octavia nods and whispers something to Clarke, who pulls away from her, wiping her eyes. When they get closer to Bellamy, Clarke reaches out for him like she needs something to hold onto, and he takes her hand without hesitation, gripping it tightly. He knows this feeling. He remembers when his mother died, and he felt like a piece of him had been ripped out.

 

Once they get upstairs, Octavia sits with Clarke on the couch while Clarke just stares at her shoes. Bellamy tries not to notice how her hands are shaking, and goes to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. When he brings it back, Clarke has her phone in her hands, and it’s ringing. She’s just staring at the screen, and Bellamy can see the word “Mom” flashing on the screen.

 

“I can’t, I can’t—“ Clarke chokes out, and Octavia takes the phone from her.

 

“I’ve got this. You sit tight,” she says gently, and shoots Bellamy a meaningful look before leaving the room, speaking to Clarke’s mother in low, hushed tones.

 

Bellamy swallows hard and goes to sit next to Clarke, offering her the glass of water. She downs it immediately, gasping for breath once she’s finished.

 

“Clarke—“ He starts, before he realizes he doesn’t know what to say. He remembers listening to everyone’s empty apologies when his mother died, and he figures that Clarke wouldn’t want any of that. (He is sorry though, because he knows things with her mother are already strained, and he wonders what’s going to happen now, now that Clarke doesn’t have her dad on her side anymore)

 

“— I’m sorry,” he tells her anyway. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

She sniffs before turning to look at him, “How is he just gone?” She asks, and his chest aches. “He was on his way to see me.”

 

“This isn’t your fault, Clarke.”

 

“He was on his way to see me because my Mom and I were fighting, like always, and he was going to—“ She swallows hard, fresh tears spilling over onto her cheeks. “What am I supposed to do now?” She whispers, and that’s Bellamy’s breaking point.

 

He pulls her into his arms before she can protest, and starts to run his free hand through her hair in what he hopes is a soothing motion. He doesn’t say anything because what can he say that would make the hurt she’s feeling go away? He begins to rock her back and forth gently, urging her to rest her head on his shoulder. She’s shaking like a leaf, and he shuts his eyes against the onslaught of protective feelings that begin to wash over him in waves.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Octavia come back in the room and stop in her tracks when she catches sight of them, and he moves to pull away from Clarke, but stops when his sister shakes her head. She comes further into the room, kneeling in front of Clarke.

 

“Clarke?”

 

Clarke lifts her head from Bellamy’s shoulder, but just barely.

 

“I told your Mom you were here. She was worried about you.”

 

“I don’t want to talk to her,” Clarke says, as fiercely as she can when she’s still sobbing.

 

“Clarke…” Octavia warns, gently, “She’s hurting right now too. I think she really needs you.”

 

“I need my Dad,” Clarke chokes out, and Bellamy winces, unconsciously holding her a little tighter, shaking his head at Octavia, who looks like she wants to keep arguing. “I can’t go home. I can’t face her. Not yet.”

 

“You can stay here,” he says, “Just for a little while.” Until you’re okay, he wants to say, but he knows that she might not be okay for a long time.

 

.

.

.

.

 

_Saturday_

 

The funeral for Clarke’s Dad is today, and Bellamy and Octavia are in the foyer of Clarke’s childhood home for the wake, feeling awkward. When Clarke asked them to go to the funeral, it was a no brainer. He thinks Octavia feels hesitation at being at a funeral — the last one she was at was her own mother’s.

 

Clarke comes down the stairs, dressed in a simple navy blue dress, and Bellamy takes a step forward without thinking, feeling relieved when he notices that Octavia has done the same thing. Clarke doesn’t say anything, but she sends a weak smile in their direction and hugs his sister.

 

“Thanks for coming,” she says, and her voice is rough and scratchy, as if she’s been crying for three straight days. (She probably has, he thinks)

 

“Duh,” Octavia chides, trying to coax a smile out of her, “You’re sort of stuck with us now.”

 

“It was a nice service,” Bellamy says, and wants to kick himself when he realizes that’s probably the last thing she wants to hear.

 

“Yeah, it—“ Clarke is cut off by someone calling her name from the kitchen, and she turns to see Raven coming towards her, the brunette’s mouth twisted in worry.

 

“Clarke, I’m so sorry, I just got out of work and I wanted to make it to the funeral, I swear, I—“

 

“It’s okay, you’re here now,” Clarke says, and the two embrace. For the first time, Bellamy can see the way that Clarke depends on her friends. She acts so independent all the time, but he can see how the tense set of her shoulders disappears when she embraces her best friend. “Raven, this is Bellamy’s sister, Octavia.”

 

“Wish we could have met under better circumstances,” Raven says, before shaking Octavia’s hand.

 

“Me too,” Octavia murmurs, and then they’re all silent.

 

“It’s good to see you again,” Raven says to Bellamy, and Bellamy is suddenly aware of how far away he is from Clarke. If they’re supposed to be fake-dating, shouldn’t he be closer? Shouldn’t he be holding his fake girlfriend’s hand after her father has just died? He must look like he’s panicking because Octavia shoots him a look that clearly says get it together.

 

“You too,” is all he says, and is relieved when Clarke moves so she’s a little closer to him, her shoulder brushing his.

 

“I’m exhausted. I think I’m going to make the rounds one last time and then go to bed. Thank you guys for coming. I don’t know how I could have done this without you.”

 

“I’m staying with you,” Raven announces, almost as if daring Clarke to contradict her. Clarke just looks at her gratefully, though, and Bellamy is only half surprised when Octavia speaks up.

 

“I’d like to stay too, Clarke. If that’s okay,” she says, looking at Raven quickly, as if she would be intruding.

 

Clarke’s whole face softens, and she takes one of Octavia’s hands in her own. “I’d like that a lot. Thanks, O.”

 

“Octavia, come with me to say hi to Mrs. Griffin, will you?” Raven says, her voice full of mischief, and Bellamy barely has time to shoot a warning glance at his sister before she’s dragged away by Clarke’s best friend.

 

That leaves Bellamy and Clarke standing together in her foyer, the quiet mumble of voices around them the only thing reminding him that they’re here because of a funeral. “Are you going to be okay?” He asks her suddenly, looking at the bags forming under her eyes.

 

She shrugs, “Not right away.”

 

“Clarke—“

 

“You don’t have to say anything. You’ve done so much for me already, Bellamy, you and Octavia—“ she cuts herself off, swallowing hard, “I’ve never had a lot of friends. What you and O did for me the other night… letting me stay with you… I can’t thank you enough.” She finally meets his eyes and there are tears swimming in her blue irises that he realizes suddenly that he wants desperately to keep at bay.

 

“It was nothing, Clarke. Really.”

 

Clarke’s gaze drifts away from him and goes across the room to where her mother is standing, quietly talking to Octavia and Raven. “And to think, three weeks ago you couldn’t stand me,” she says, and though her tone is teasing, he still feels the sting of her accusation.

 

“That’s not—“

 

“It’s okay, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy nods at her, and wonders if this whole pretend boyfriend thing was the worst or best idea he’s ever had.

 

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_Monday_

 

Every time the bell on the front door rings, signaling a new customer, Bellamy looks up, only to get a weird twisting in his gut every time the person isn’t Clarke.

 

He knows it’s stupid.

 

He know’s thinking like this means he is in big, big, trouble, but he can’t help it.

 

Octavia read him the riot act the day before when he tried to casually bring up their blonde friend, but he should have predicted that his sister would see right through him.

 

“Bellamy. Give me a little credit.”

 

“There’s nothing going on, O. You’re imagining things.”

 

“I’m not imagining the look on your face every time her name comes up,” Octavia says, pointing at him. “Are you sure you want to go to this party with her? What if it just makes it worse? What if you say something or do something and—“

 

Bellamy clenches his fist, and cuts her off, his tone harsh and loud in the quiet of the room, “You think I haven’t thought of that? You think I haven’t imagined every single scenario where this ends badly? Of course I have!”

 

“Well what are you going to do, then?”

 

“She asked me to go with her. I’m not going to cancel at the last minute.” He looks down at the counter, absentmindedly rubbing at a spot with his finger, “It’s going to be fine.”

 

“People only say the word ‘fine’ when things are ‘not fine’, Bell.” Octavia says wryly, using finger quotes.

 

“Please, can we drop this? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Bellamy says, a twisting feeling growing in the pit of his stomach as he thinks about going to the party with Clarke and having to be close to her, feeling her curves pressing into him as they danced or stood together or… fuck, he thought. When did this happen?

 

So maybe he’s developed a little bit of a crush on Clarke Griffin. Who can blame him? Honestly, he knows he’s an idiot, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. So instead of dwelling on it, which he is definitely not doing, he buries himself in work, reorganizing the stock room, stacking cups at the counter, trying to pretend that he wasn’t keeping one eye on the door for his entire shift.

 

When Clarke doesn’t come in, he frowns to himself before getting his phone out of his pocket, scrolling until he finds her contact, his thumb hovering over it for a second before he presses down, opening a new text message. ‘ **You okay?’** He types, pressing send before he can talk himself out of it.

 

 **‘studying. eating lots of pizza with raven. doing ok’** she sends back a few minutes later, and he feels the knot in his stomach lessen when he knows that she’s with a friend. He’s been thinking about her and how she must be feeling, because he felt the exact same way when his Mom passed. He realizes that Clarke is probably a lot stronger than he was though, as if there was ever any doubt that Clarke is the better of the two of them. He smiles at the thought, and goes up to his apartment before he does anything else stupid, like go to her apartment with coffee for her and Raven. Nope. Definitely not going to do that.

 

He hasn’t seen Clarke in two days, but it feels like years, and that’s how he knows he’s well and truly fucked.

 

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_Tuesday_

 

Tuesday nearly comes and goes without word from Clarke again, but at half past eight, there’s a knock on his apartment door, and he freezes halfway to the remote, hating himself for hoping. He gets up and walks to the door, looking through the peephole, his heart jumping embarrassingly when he sees a familiar head of blonde hair.

 

Opening the door, he barely restrains a grin, and hopes that he looks nonchalant. “Princess, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“I got bored,” is all she says, elbowing her way past him and into his living room.

 

“I’m so flattered.” He shuts the door and locks it behind him before following her to the couch where she’s beginning to unpack an unreasonably large backpack filled with books and papers. “What are you working on?”

 

“I have a few sketches due next week and I can’t decide what I want to draw.”

 

“Don’t you have a studio in your apartment?”

 

“It’s too loud there. They’re renovating the apartment below mine and if I stayed there any longer I was going to go deaf.”

 

Bellamy chuckles, taking his seat next to her. “And my place was the first place you could think to go?”

 

She eyes him seriously for a minute, and his heart starts to beat into overdrive, because he can’t read the look on her face, or tell why she thought to seek him out instead of her other friends. They’ve never been close, not like this, not without Octavia around to facilitate their friendship, and even though he’s her fake boyfriend, this is all unfamiliar territory.

 

She shrugs instead of answering him, and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that, so he just keeps quiet, flicking on the TV. They both sit in silence for a little while, and he’s surprised to find that it’s not the awkward silence that he expected, but rather a silence that’s comfortable, at least for him. He almost forgets she’s there, if not for the constant sound of pencil and charcoal scratching over canvas as she draws.

 

Every now and then she glances over at him, but when he tries to meet her eyes, she turns back to her drawing, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up when he gets up to get something to eat and takes a peek at her canvas. It’s unmistakable - she’s drawing him. He freezes, and Clarke is blushing, and it’s all too much.

 

“That’s… that’s really well done, princess,” he says, and even he can hear the open fondness in his voice. Jesus.

 

“You probably think I’m a total creep,” she says, “I didn’t think you’d agree to it if I asked you.”

 

“No,” he disagrees quickly, “No, I… Clarke, this is…” He feels flustered and he can tell she does too, her eyes wide as she tries to figure out where he’s going with his sentence, his rambling not helping matters at all. “Thanks,” he settles on, his words simple but loaded with meaning.

 

“Can I ask you something?” She says suddenly, and when he looks at her, she’s chewing on a fingernail, a nervous habit that he’s noticed. When he nods, she looks flustered again. “Are you only going with me to Raven’s party because I’m your sister’s friend?”

 

Bellamy stares. “You asked me to—“

 

“I know,” Clarke runs a hand through her hair, effectively distracting him, “I know I did, but… I mean, it’s not a secret what you think of me, Bellamy, and I just thought maybe you felt bad for me or something. Poor little rich girl, can’t get a date, so—“

 

“That’s not what I think.” His voice comes out strong and firm, but inside he’s shaking because he’s too close to revealing what he actually does think, and neither one of them is prepared for that.”That’s not what I think,” he repeats, softly. “Look, I know when we first met I wasn’t… I wasn’t…”

 

“You were kind of an asshole,” she says, but her voice has a teasing lilt to it, and he bites back a smile.

 

“I was kind of an asshole.” He agrees. “It’s just… it was never personal. Not really. I’ve always had to work twice as hard as anyone else to get by, and everything seemed to come so easy to you.” Clarke opens her mouth to protest, but Bellamy cuts her off, “I know that’s not true now. I know you’ve gone through some serious shit, princess.” He smiles at her, relieved when the tense look on her face gives way to something softer.

 

“So we’re good?”

 

“We’re good.” He nods, reaching over to squeeze her hand in an uncharacteristic gesture. “So are you ready for this weekend, then?”

 

She shrugs, her brow furrowing. “I guess so. I mean, at the very least it’ll give us an excuse to hang out and get drunk,” she tells him, and he laughs.

 

“I knew there was a badass in there somewhere, Griffin.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

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_Tuesday evening_

 

Bellamy is pacing in his kitchen, one hand running through his hair, the other scratching at the back of his neck in a nervous gesture, because Clarke Griffin is asleep on his couch, and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. If it were his sister, he would just pick her up and deposit her in his bedroom, because what kind of older brother lets his baby sister sleep on the couch? But with Clarke? How is he supposed to act?

 

He almost wishes there was a manual for this sort of thing. What To Do If Your Attractive Newly-Discovered Friend Falls Asleep In Your Home.

 

Clarke stirs a bit, but doesn’t wake up, but Bellamy freezes in the kitchen, watching her on the couch, and he’s left alone once again with his indecision. He supposes he could just wake her up. For all he knows, she has classes or work tomorrow, and will want to get home. Then again, he knows she’s mentioned to Octavia that sleep hasn’t been coming all that easily lately, and who is he to wake her up when she’s finally caught some shut eye?

 

Groaning to himself, he walks back out into the living room and flops down into the armchair, trying to concentrate on the TV. He decides he’ll just go back to what he was doing before he noticed she had fallen asleep - watching Chopped. It’s a distracting enough show to (hopefully) help him forget that a girl that he’s steadily beginning to develop feelings for is sleeping just a few feet away, looking more at peace and innocent than he’s ever seen her when she’s awake.

 

“Bellamy?” He hears her before he sees her sit up, and he bolts upright despite himself.

 

“Did I wake you?”

 

“No, no, I just… how long have I been asleep?”

 

Bellamy looks down at his watch, “I don’t know, an hour maybe?”

 

“Sorry.”

 

“You don’t have to apologize, Clarke.”

 

An awkward silence settles over the two of them, and Bellamy mentally rolls his eyes at himself. If it were anyone else, he knows he wouldn’t be feeling like this. If it were anyone else, he would have just shaken them awake without a second thought, but it’s probably a good testament to what’s happening to him where Clarke is concerned that he just let her lie there.

 

“I should go,” she says, and he can hear how tired she is.

 

“You don’t have to,” he blurts, and immediately reddens. This is unfamiliar territory. “I— you look tired. You could stay, if you want.”

 

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she says, her voice so uncharacteristically soft, and something inside Bellamy’s chest warms as he takes in the way she’s looking at him. He wonders briefly if she notices the way he’s started to look at _her_ , and that thought terrifies him, so he breaks her gaze and heads into his bedroom to make sure things are relatively clean.

 

When he comes back to the living room, he’s holding a pair of worn sweatpants and hoodie. “Here,” he says, “O usually wears this stuff when she sleeps over. I have the air on and she always complains about it ‘being the arctic’ in here.” He smiles as he hands them to her, and she grins, her hand brushing his as she grabs them.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You can take my bed.”

 

A crease appears in between Clarke’s eyebrows, “What? No—“

 

“I don’t wanna hear it, princess.”

 

“Don’t complain to me when your back hurts from sleeping on the couch, then.” She says, but shuffles into the bathroom to change without any more argument.

 

When she comes out, Bellamy has to stifle an involuntary noise, because his sweatpants and sweatshirt dwarf her, unlike Octavia, who has a few inches on Clarke. She’s swimming inside _his clothes_ and he has never found her more enticing than he does in this moment, and he needs to go, he needs to turn away and get out of this room before he—

 

“Bellamy?”

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“I asked if you had some tea or something I could make?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Sure.” He says the words in a rush, glad for the distraction as he practically sprints to the kitchen.

 

Turning the kettle on, he sighs. It’s going to be a long night.

 

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.

 

_Wednesday_

When Bellamy wakes up, the first thing he hears is the shower running, and for a second he’s not sure what’s happening, until he hears humming and recognizes the voice. _Clarke_.

 

Sitting upright, he rubs the remaining sleep out his eyes and tries to make himself look presentable before he realizes what he’s doing and remembers how pathetic he is. _She doesn’t care how you look in the morning, because it doesn’t matter. It’s not like this is ever going to happen again._

 

The shower stops, and Bellamy gets up, heading into the kitchen to make some coffee. When the door to the bathroom opens, Clarke sees him while she’s drying her hair with a towel, and he has to stop himself from reaching for her. She looks… she looks like she belongs here, and it leaves Bellamy with an ache that he’s never felt before. She smiles at him, looking a little bashful, and he grips the countertop to keep himself there.

 

“I hope you don’t mind,” she says, “I can never wake up properly if I don’t shower.”

 

“I don’t mind,” he replies, forcing his voice to come out evenly instead of cracking like it wants to. The sight of her, still in his clothes, with wet hair and an embarrassed smile make him want to kiss her senseless.

 

“I have an interview today,” she says shyly.

 

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy’s interest is peaked, purely for the fact that he knows she hasn’t had much luck finding a job since she decided to give up med school. “Where?”

 

“It’s a museum downtown. I’m not sure that I’ll get it, but…” she trails off, shrugging, and he shakes his head.

 

“I don’t doubt you for a second, princess.”

 

She sends him a smile that nearly makes his knees weak, and that’s how he knows he’s officially screwed.

 

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.

 

_Thursday_

 

Thursdays are inventory days at the cafe, and he hates them, even though he knows it has to be done. It’ll never be done right by anyone else, so he usually takes on the task by himself, but today Harper and Monty are working, so Bellamy feels comfortable leaving them alone with customers while he and Octavia go to the storeroom.

 

“So. You and Clarke,” Octavia says, nearly the minute they’re alone. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

 

“O, I’ve told you—“

 

She dismisses him with a wave of her hand, “— Nothing is going on, right, so you’ve said. She told me she spend the night at your place the other night.”

 

“I wasn’t really going to let her drive home half asleep.”

 

Octavia is watching him closely; he can practically feel her eyes boring holes into the side of his head, but he refuses to meet her eyes. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. He still hasn’t even figured it out for himself, and he doesn’t need her lording this information over his head for the next few days until he has to pretend to be Clarke’s boyfriend.

 

“She’s going to figure it out, you know.”

 

He glares at his sister, “Not from you.”

 

She holds her hands up in mock surrender, “Please. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m just saying… she’s going to notice the look on your face sooner or later. You should just tell her.”

 

Bellamy grabs another bag of coffee grounds out of box and puts it on the shelf in front of him, crossing out a line on his clipboard, “Yeah, that would _totally_ end well.”

 

“How do you know it would go badly?” His sister demands, her hands on her hips.

 

“I just know, okay? Girls like Clarke don’t end up with guys like me.” He can taste the bitterness of his words, and when Octavia’s eyes soften, he can’t even look at her anymore.

 

“For the record, I think you’re wrong.”

 

Bellamy sighs, closing his eyes. “I really don’t want to talk about this.”

 

“Fine. But I’m not giving up. You shouldn’t either.”

 

An hour later, they’re done with inventory, and when they go back out to the cafe to relieve Monty and Harper, Clarke is there, sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee and her sketchbook, looking for all the world like she belongs there. Bellamy nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of her, and he knows Octavia saw, but he can’t bring himself to care anymore.

 

Something about Clarke Griffin does that to him — she makes him want to throw all caution to the wind and stop thinking about what other people think for a minute and just do what makes him happy. She did that for herself, and it was probably the most inspirational thing Bellamy has ever seen. The minute she decided to do what she wanted to do instead of what her mother expected of her, she transformed into a happier, brighter version of the Clarke he had first met in the cafe, and he wants to do that for himself. He wants to be happy.

 

Octavia bounds over to her friend, giving her a hug, and Bellamy follows at a distance.

 

“When are you going to show me the dress you’re wearing to that party?” His sister demands, and Clarke actually gulps. “You’re letting me do your hair,” Octavia announces, plopping down onto the stool next to Clarke.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Clarke says, sounding amused, and Bellamy smiles, watching the two of them.

 

“Hey, Clarke,” he says, walking behind the counter. He begins to wash his hands, and half-listens to Clarke and Octavia chattering away.

 

“Bellamy, can I get another?” Clarke asks, holding her mug out at him.

 

“Mocha?”

 

“With peppermint, please,” she sings, and he bites back a smile. After a minute of quiet between the three, Octavia messing around on her phone, Clarke sketching and Bellamy making Clarke’s drink, Clarke clears her throat. “So, did I ever tell you guys how my interview went?”

 

Bellamy glances at her while waiting for her espresso to come out of the machine, “Nope.”

 

“You don’t need to tell us; we know you kicked ass,” Octavia says, barely looking up from her phone.

 

Clarke grins. “Well… you might be right about that, because they offered me the job on the spot.”

 

Octavia screeches, and Clarke is grinning, and Bellamy is too, moving around the counter to congratulate her.

 

“Knew you could do it, princess!” he exclaims, and at some point in their laughter and celebration, she throws her arms around his neck, hugging him. He wraps his arms around her, chuckling, nearly lifting her off the floor.

 

He gets lost in the feeling of her soft curves pressed against him, and he doesn’t know how long they stay like that, wrapped up in one another, but Octavia clearing her throat gets their attention, and they break apart. The flush on Clarke’s cheeks makes Bellamy want to hug her again, but when Octavia raises an eyebrow at him over Clarke’s shoulder, he goes back behind the counter, scratching the back of his neck.

 

“I start on Monday,” Clarke says, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the knowledge that her voice sounds just as shaky as he feels.

 

“Have you told your Mom?” Octavia asks, and the smile is virtually wiped right off of Clarke’s face. “Sorry, I just… she’d be proud of you, Clarke.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” Clarke says as Bellamy finishes stirring her drink, setting it down in front of her. She smiles at him gratefully, although it’s still muted. “I’ll tell her eventually, just… not now.”

 

“Take your time, Clarke. She’ll understand.” Bellamy says, feeling an overwhelming urge to reassure her and make sure that she doesn’t lose the excitement she had just a few minutes ago.

 

“I hope you’re right,” she says, and he laughs.

 

“Don’t worry, I always am.”

 

Clarke’s eraser comes flying in his direction again, but he can’t bring himself to care when it hits him hard, stinging a little. Not when she’s smiling like that.

 

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_Saturday - the night of the party_

Saturday comes quicker than Bellamy expects, and he’s _nervous_. It’s not that he doesn’t think they’ll be able to pull of the act, but he’s worried how _real_ it’s going to feel, at least for him. He’s terrified that he’s not going to be able to handle being overly-affectionate with Clarke for a whole night, and then go back to barely being friends afterwards.

 

Telling her how he feels isn’t an option. He’s debated it over and over in his head and can’t think of a single scenario in which it ends well and they sail off into the proverbial sunset.

 

Cursing, he struggles to tie his tie in the mirror for the fifth time. Clarke is heading to meet him, probably right at this very moment, and he lets out a shaky exhale as he realizes just how unprepared he is for tonight.

 

 _At least there’s going to be alcohol,_ he thinks.

 

On cue, there’s a knock on his door, and he takes a deep breath. _This is going to be fine. It’s just Clarke_ , he tries telling himself, but all those reassurances fly out of his head the minute he opens the door to his apartment and sees her standing in the doorway. The description of “blue dress” was absolutely wrong, he thinks, as he takes in the elegant form-fitting dress that drapes over her. The material looks silky, and is a deep, deep blue, making her eyes stand out even more than usual. It’s understated, but somehow still makes a statement, and he knows he’s probably gaping at her like an idiot, but she’s _breathtaking_ , and he’s halfway in love with her, and _such an idiot_ for ever agreeing to this in the first place.

 

“Hi,” she says, and she’s got that shy look on her face again, and don’t even _get him started_ on that — her face is all made up, red lips and dark eyes, and her hair is loose, but pulled away from her face in elaborate braids that are all his sister’s fault.

 

“You look…” he exhales, like an _idiot,_ and—

 

“Here, let me fix this,” she interrupts his thoughts, coming inside and shutting the door behind her, reaching for his tie. He dimly remembers he hadn’t finished tying it, but he can’t really think, because her hands are grazing his jaw with every move she makes, and she’s _so close_. “There,” she says softly when she’s finished.

 

“Thanks. You look beautiful,” he finishes his thought from before, and she smiles.

 

“Thank you,” she straightens the lapels on his dress shirt, “you don’t clean up too bad either.” There’s a twinkle in her eyes that he doesn’t recognize, and it makes him incredibly nervous.

 

“We should go,” he tells her, “do you have everything?”

 

She holds up her clutch purse, “I’m all set.”

 

Ushering her out the door with a hand on the small of her back, he prays to every deity he can remember for the strength to get out of this night in one piece.

 

He drives them to the venue where the engagement party is being held, and gives the keys to the valet at Clarke’s insistence.

 

“They’re paying for valet service for everyone, we might as well take advantage of it,” she says, grinning at him, and he smiles back, shrugging.

 

“Whatever you say, princess.”

 

“So… are you ready for this?”

 

“I am if you are.”

 

“Do you remember the story we’re telling?”

 

“Got it,” he says, tapping his temple for emphasis.

 

“Just pretend to be madly in love with me, and it’ll be fine,” Clarke says, before getting out of the car, leaving him sitting there stricken, his heart pounding.

 

“Not a problem,” he mutters, before getting out to follow her into the building.

 

On a whim, he reaches over and grabs her hand, lacing their fingers together, feeling relieved when she squeezes his hand in reassurance. They walk inside and immediately are overwhelmed by the sheer number of people in attendance.

 

“She wasn’t kidding when she said she was inviting ‘a few’ people…” Clarke mutters, and Bellamy chuckles.

 

“Clarke!” A voice says to their left, and when they turn in unison, Raven is there, nearly running at her best friend. Clarke hugs her, but doesn’t let go of Bellamy’s hand. “I’m so glad you made it.”

 

“You remember Bellamy,” Clarke says, tugging him closer, and he smiles at the brunette.

 

“Nice to see you,” he says, smiling at her.

 

“You as well,” Raven says, looking mischievously down at where he and Clarke’s hands are still joined. It takes considerable effort not to squirm under her gaze. “Wick is somewhere around,” she says, gesturing vaguely behind her, “That’s the groom-to-be,” she says to Bellamy.

 

“We’ll go find a seat somewhere and catch up with you later, okay?” Clarke says, and Raven nods.

 

“Dinner is soon, so get comfy!”

 

Clarke begins to tug him towards a room where a bunch of round tables are set up, and they both take a seat at one that is empty. Feeling bold, Bellamy scoots his chair a bit closer to her and rests his arm on the back of her chair, feeling her hair tickle his forearm.

 

“Any sign of the douchebag?” He asks, voice low, and is rewarded with a laugh.

 

“Please don’t call him that to his face,” she says, grinning. “I haven’t seen him yet. Maybe he won’t come at all.”

 

Clarke’s voice was small, and Bellamy hates it. He doesn’t like seeing her like this; so unsure of herself.

 

“Hey.” He touches her arm lightly, “We’re here for Raven, okay? Who cares if he comes.”

 

“I’m going to regret saying this, but you’re right.” Clarke says, rolling her eyes at him as he grins at her.

 

“That’s the spirit, Griffin.”

 

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.

 

An hour later, Bellamy realizes that Clarke’s ex _still_ isn’t here, and what’s more, he doesn’t care. They’re actually having _fun_ , and the warmth he feels whenever he’s with Clarke is only enhanced by the champagne they’ve had and the smiles she keeps sending his way.

 

They finally meet up with Kyle Wick, Raven’s finance, and Bellamy likes him straight away. He’s goofy but smart, and Bellamy watches as Clarke nudges Raven and grins at her, and Bellamy thinks that this is the most he’s seen Clarke smile since her Dad died.

 

The dinner is great — roasted seasoned potatoes and the best steak Bellamy has had in years — and they’re just about ready for dessert when Clarke suddenly leans over and rests her head on his shoulder, smiling at him. By now, he’s used to the random displays of affection, but even this seems different to him. For one, there’s no one he needs to be introduced to, and two, she’s looking at him in that way that she does sometimes, in the way he caught her looking at him that night in his apartment. It makes him want to simultaneously get as close as possible, and get far, far away.

 

“Something on your mind, princess?” He asks, looking over the dessert menu. Clarke already declared a few minutes ago that she was going to be having the chocolate cake.

 

“No, I’m just… I’m having a lot of fun tonight, Bellamy.” Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles at him, and Bellamy feels a hundred butterflies take flight in his stomach.

 

“So am I,” he tells her honestly. He can’t remember the last time he went out and had a good time like this.

 

“We should dance,” she says suddenly, her cake forgotten, and his eyes go wide.

 

“No, _no_ , Clarke, I can’t dance.”

 

She screws her face up in disbelief, “That’s stupid; everyone can dance!” She’s out of her seat and grabbing his hand before he can churn out more excuses.

 

“Clarke—“

 

“Just one dance, Bell, please?”

 

In the end he doesn’t know if it’s the use of that nickname or the look on her face that does it, but he lets her drag him out onto the crudely constructed dance floor — just a tile space in the middle of all this carpet in the large room — and when a slow song comes on, he pulls her into his arms, despite the warning bells going off in his head.

 

He doesn’t know the song that’s on, but it doesn’t matter. His arms are full of Clarke, and when she rests her head on his chest and sighs contentedly, he doesn’t care about anything else. They sway across the floor slowly, and he knows that everyone can tell that he refuses to take his eyes off of her, but how is he supposed to do anything else? How is he supposed to stop looking at this beautiful, smart, kind, brave girl who has completely turned his life upside down?

 

He finds that his throat is growing tight, and as he pulls her closer, he thinks that _this is it_. This is it, and he’s going to tell her. He’s going to tell her how he feels, because after tonight how is he supposed to go back to just being her friend? “Clarke—“ he whispers, and has to clear his throat, because it’s rough with emotion and he’s not sure if he has the guts to go through with this.

 

She hums in response and looks up at him through her eyelashes, and his breath catches in his throat. “Clarke, I need to tell you something.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Just… promise you won’t punch me, okay?”

 

She tilts her head back a fraction to look at him and narrows her eyes, “You have some other pretend girlfriend I don’t know about?” Her eyes are sparkling at him and she’s clearly holding back a smile as she burrows closer to him, her nose brushing the skin of his neck.

 

 _God,_ he loves her. “Clarke, I’m—“

 

“Clarke?”

 

Bellamy shuts his eyes and lets out an exhale as they’re interrupted, Clarke’s head lifting off his chest to look in the direction of the unwelcome voice. He can feel her tense in his arms, her back going ramrod straight.

 

“Princess?” He murmurs.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispers back, leaving the circle of his arms to turn around and face a shorter man with dark eyes and dark hair that falls over his eyes slightly. The man in question is looking at Clarke with a mixture of disbelief and awe, and Bellamy knows right away that this must be Finn.

 

“Finn,” she greets, and though she’s being polite, Bellamy doesn’t miss the coldness of her voice.

 

“It’s good to see you,” Finn tells her and Bellamy takes a step closer to Clarke, sliding his arm around her waist smoothly. Finn’s gaze follows Bellamy’s arm, and he frowns. “I don’t think we’ve met, I’m—“

 

“Finn, right? Good to meet you. Bellamy Blake.”

 

“My boyfriend,” Clarke adds, unnecessarily.

 

They both watch as Finn’s entire face falls, and Bellamy feels Clarke relax into him, her curves molding seamlessly to the hard lines of his body.

 

“I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

 

“Probably because I didn’t tell you,” Clarke says cheerfully, and Bellamy stifles a snort of laughter.

 

“Clarke… is it always going to be like this?”

 

“Be like what?” She asks, incredulous.

 

“This!” Finn gestures between them, “We haven’t talked in months, and—“

 

“We haven’t talked in months because you cheated on me and I broke up with you,” Clarke says, her eyes hardening. Bellamy squeezes her hip slightly. “Look, this is Raven’s party and I don’t want to ruin it.”

 

“Can we please talk? Just for a minute?”

 

Clarke holds his gaze for a second, and then turns to lean upwards and place a kiss on Bellamy’s cheek. She turns back to Finn, “You get one minute. I’m going to count.”

 

“Clarke—“ Bellamy says, grabbing her elbow before he can stop himself.

 

“I’ll be fine. Be back in a minute,” she says, and she’s gone before he can say anything else.

 

He watches them go, hating the way Finn walks closer to her with every step they take away from Bellamy, and he sees that Raven is watching them too, with a frown on her face. She makes eye contact with Bellamy for a brief moment, and he hates the pity that he finds in her eyes. Clarke was never really his, and he doesn’t have a right to feel jealous, but he can’t help it.

 

He makes his way back to their table, sitting down just as Clarke’s cake is brought out on a plate. He watches the waiter set it down in front of the chair where Clarke should be sitting, and he clamps his jaw, thinking of how the night has taken such a turn.

 

“Do you love her?” Raven startles him, suddenly appearing at his side.

 

“W-what?”

 

“Don’t be an idiot. I know you two are faking it. Well, she is.”

 

“I’m not… we’re not—“

 

“Look, I don’t care. What I _do_ care about is that she’s out there with _him_ —“ she points forcefully to the hallway, “— instead of in here with you, when you’re so obviously crazy about her, it makes me want to puke.”

 

Bellamy doesn’t say anything, just looks down at the place setting in front of him.

 

“Go find her, and tell her. She needs someone like you.” She leaves him sitting there alone with his thoughts for about two seconds before he’s on his feet.

 

He might not believe that Clarke Griffin needs someone like him, but Bellamy Blake definitely needs her, and he’s not going to give up without a fight.

 

In the hallway, Bellamy doesn’t see her right away, and when he does, he sees red. Finn has his hand gripped around Clarke’s upper arm, and though her jaw is set, her eyes look red and watery. Finn sounds like he’s in the middle of a tirade, and Clarke is very clearly trying to find an escape route. Her eyes lock onto Bellamy’s from across the hall, and he sees her relax visibly.

 

In three strides, Bellamy is at her side, fists clenched at his own. “Okay, I think this conversation is over,” he tells Finn, standing slightly in front of Clarke so that Finn is forced to let go of her arm.

 

“We were just—“

 

“I don’t care,” Bellamy practically growls, “Leave her alone, or I’ll make you.”

 

Finn shoots him one more disbelieving look before spinning on his heel and heading back to the ballroom.

 

“I could have handled that,” Clarke says from behind Bellamy, and _shit_ , she sounds mad.

 

Bellamy turns to face her, “I know, but I didn’t like the way he was touching you.”

 

Her eyes grow soft. “He didn’t hurt me.”

 

“Good,” Bellamy says, his voice gravelly again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

“I’m fine. Can we… do you think it would be okay if we left early? I just want to get in my pajamas.” She sends a watery smile in his direction, and he can’t deny her anything.

 

“You got it, Princess. Let me go in and get our stuff. You wait here.”

 

He strides into the ballroom and says goodbye to Raven and Wick, apologizing for Clarke, although Raven assures him the party is dying down anyway. After that, he heads to their table to get Clarke’s purse and his suit jacket, and, after only a few seconds of thought, he has one of the waiters wrap up Clarke’s slice of cake.

 

Heading back to the lobby, he hands Clarke her purse and takes her hand without thinking about it, feeling vilified when she only grips his hand tightly in response. They wait for the car at the valet for only a few moments, and Bellamy doesn’t let go of her hand the entire way back to his apartment, where her car is parked.

 

.

.

.

.

 

Clarke comes up to his apartment for coffee afterwards, and he can’t shake the jittery feeling he gets now whenever she looks at him. If she remembers his half-spilled confession from earlier she’s hiding it well, but he feels the weight of it on his chest, and is surprised at how much he wants to let it all out.

 

“Do you think I could stay here again tonight?” She asks quietly as they sit on his couch, still in their fancy clothes, sipping their coffee. “I’m just… I’m worn out from tonight.”

 

“S-sure…” he stutters, looking down when she meets his eyes. “Yeah. Of course.” After a few minutes, she turns sideways to face him, and smiles softly at him. “So,” he starts, “Do you think they all bought it?”

 

Her face drops, but only for a split-second, so fast he’s sure he imagined it. “I think so. You’re a great actor.”

 

He swallows hard, feeling his throat grow tight again. She’s giving him an out, he thinks, but he doesn’t want to take it. He wants to… he wants to tell her how wrong she is, how wrong everyone was if they thought he was acting. “Clarke… about what I was going to tell you earlier…”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“The thing is… the thing is that I wasn’t—“

 

“Oh my god!” Clarke’s outburst leaves him startled.

 

“What?”

 

“I didn’t even get a chance to eat that cake! Raven said she had it imported, and it was supposed to be— Bellamy? Where are you going?”

 

He’s halfway to the kitchen when she asks, and when he returns with a takeout box, her eyes go wide, and she’s quiet, so quiet. “Here,” he says grumpily, not happy about being interrupted twice.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Open it and see.”

 

She opens the lid and her face is almost comical when she sees the slice of cake he had wrapped up for her. She looks up at him and for a moment he’s afraid that she might cry. “You got my cake?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You asked someone to wrap up my cake after I left it there?”

 

Bellamy is uncomfortable under her gaze, “It’s not a big deal, Clarke. You were talking about it all night, and I just figured that you’d want it for later, so I—“ He’s cut off rather forcefully when Clarke sets her cake down on the coffee table and swiftly moves into his line of vision, pulling his face upwards to meet her as she kisses him, and everything freezes.

 

He doesn’t respond right away, but it doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he feels all the weight of everything in the world melt off his shoulders at the feeling of her lips moving against his, the feeling of her small hands tracing patterns on his chest as she moves so she’s practically in his lap. He returns her kiss enthusiastically then, his arms going around her and bringing her in tight against him.

 

She sighs into his mouth and it’s the most alluring thing he’s ever heard, and he wants to hear it a hundred more times, so he opens his mouth under hers, deepening the kiss. He groans at the heat of her, and the way she’s moving against him, and she responds by carding one hand through his hair, tugging on it slightly.

 

They break apart after awhile, both desperate for air, but she stays close to him.

 

“I should have gotten you some cake sooner,” he tells her, panting slightly, and she punches his arm, just enough to sting.

 

“You’re an idiot,” she chides.

 

“I’m in love with you,” he counters, watching as she goes still, her blue eyes widening. “I’ve been trying to tell you all night.”

 

“You’re… you… you love me?” Her voice is so, _so_ small, and he hates it. He hates that her life has taught her to always second guess when someone is being genuine with her, and he wants her to trust him wholeheartedly.

 

“These last two weeks have made me… _you’ve_ made me crazy, Clarke. Pretending to be in love with you tonight was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

 

She stares at him for so long that he’s sure he’s blown it, and he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach when she starts to move away from him. He lets her go, feeling the warmth of her disappearing, and therefore doesn’t expect her to full-on straddle him on his couch, her dress riding up her hips. “I’m pretty crazy about you too, Bell.”

 

He kisses her again, this time harder and with more confidence, and feels smug when she moans right away, her hips rocking against him.

 

“Does this mean I can get free coffee at the cafe?” She asks when they break apart, and he rolls his eyes.

 

“I should have known you were only with me for my money.”

 

“And your good looks,” she replies, smirking, and then shrieking when he tickles her sides, her cries turning to laughter as she twists away from him, flopping onto one side on the couch.

 

An hour later finds them both in sweats in front of the TV, one of Clarke’s favorite movies on as she eats her chocolate cake snuggled against his side. He sighs contentedly, playing with the ends of her hair, every once in awhile pausing to press a kiss to the top of her head. He thinks this is the best he’s felt in years.

**Author's Note:**

> please leave a review if you liked this! also, come cry with me on [tumblr](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com).


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